These Brutal Streets
by NewsiesApostles
Summary: [a stress and bittah fic] Sarah is still dead, but now there's some nasty rumors spreading around! Would someone really want to kill Sarah? That's for you to decide. Now there's some drifting from the horrid death of beloved Sarah and some sexual tension.
1. Part One

Note: _This is the first chapter of what we will come to be known as the 'awesomiest' fic ever. However, if you want to continue on the journey of awesome-dom, I highly recommend you favorite it or something. The next chapter starts all the M-rated goodness and the rating will be changed accordingly. Yay. And, yes, the beginning is a blatant rip-off of the film – we are setting up what will later come so don't think we're, you know, nuts or anything. Okay? Good. Enjoy!_

Disclaimer: _The movie characters highlighted in this awesome piece of work, unfortunately, do not belong to us. They are owned by Disney (© 1992-) and appear here because we made them. But we're not making any money off of them, so it's all good. The original characters included were donated generously because their creator's had no idea what they were in for._

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_These Brutal Streets_

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PART ONE

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It was all starting to fall apart and there was nothing that David could do about it. The strike, under Jack's leadership, had seemed like a great idea, once he had given it a real thought. And, of course, the unexpected help of the _Sun_ reporter, Bryan Denton, was worth a lot. But now…

In a span of twenty-four hours, everything that the newsboys had worked for, suffered for – _sacrificed _for – had gone to naught. The rally had been infiltrated by the Police, and nearly all of their numbers had been hauled before the Judge. Denton, in his last act as hero, had paid every exorbitant fine, but even his money wasn't enough to save Jack.

David snorted, lying awake in his bed as he went over the events. _His name isn't even Jack. I was right in the beginning – he's a boy called Sullivan… and he never told me…_

Jack was sentenced to the Refuge – a four year stint until he turned twenty-one. Though he felt just a tad betrayed at hearing the truth fall from Snyder's lips rather than that of one he thought friend, David knew he would try his best to break Jack out; he had already tried to break Crutchy out once before – he was nearly a pro at it.

But then there was the second blow that hit their group. Denton, one of their strongest allies during the strike, was leaving them. He had accepted a position as an Ace War Correspondent – it was a position to take him as far away from the boys' strike as possible.

_They don't always fire you… This is the story I wrote about the rally. I want you to read it at least…_

David's stomach turned as he thought about Denton's words. They had fallen on deaf ears. As soon as David learned that Denton was turning against them, he wanted nothing more to do with the man. After all, did they really need him? They had been doing just fine on their own – no doubt they would continue to fight without his aid (though his money would surely be missed by those who had grown accustomed to his frequent treats of lunch).

He didn't read the article; rather, he crumpled up the sheaf of paper and tossed it aside, wordlessly telling Denton how he no longer cared to have him around. And that's when David had made his proclamation: "We get Jack out of the Refuge tonight. From now on, we trust no one but the newsies." Without Jack there, someone had to take control; that someone was David.

After all their planning, David never thought that, after the risk of trying to get him out, Jack would turn him away – refuse his help.

"_Come on! Keep running!" David, after hitching a ride on a back of a carriage – the irony of that was not lost on the boy – had followed Jack to a great, fancy home. He had waited until he saw the familiar profile of his pal exiting the house and called for him. Jack heard him and, the second Snyder faltered on his hold, he slid down the banister, joined David and took off._

_However, not too far away, Jack stopped running. "You shouldn't have done this, Dave. They could put you in jail."_

"_I don't care," David said defiantly. _

_Jack looked pained, as if he was remembering something that hurt him. "Come here. What about your family? What happens_ _to them if you go in jail? You don't know nothing about jail. Now, thanks for what you done, but you get outta_ _here."_

"_I don't understand."_

"_I don't understand either, but just get outta here!"_

_David was confused. He thought that Jack would have jumped at the opportunity to be free. "No!"_

"_Go!"_

_Almost as if in a daze, David turned and walked away. After a few steps, he paused and looked over his shoulder. Jack had not even moved._

_He met the other boys in the Square. They were all looking at him quizzically when he arrived alone but David just thanked Racetrack for keeping an eye on Les. He couldn't find the words to express his confusion at Jack's refusal to escape with him. But, at least, the boy was free – even if he did not want to accept David's help. _

--

He couldn't believe. Not when Weasel led him out, not when he saw the fancy new suit and the stack of papers in a strangely clean hand. He heard the buzzing going on just in front of him – he was sure Racetrack had muttered something, and who could ignore Spot asking for someone to tell him that he was seeing things – but his own eyes were having a hard time processing what he saw before him.

There was Jack… but it wasn't the Jack that he knew. This Jack… was a scabber.

More and more of the boys surrounding him were realizing what just had happened. Mush was damn near pleading with Jack, trying to remind him of the boys he had been fighting for – the boys he was now betraying. Kid Blink just kept repeating that this couldn't be happening.

It was good old Spot Conlon who said it the best.

"He sold us out!"

Jack Kelly – hell, Francis Sullivan, wasn't it? – had sold them out. All of them. Including him.

_First Denton, now Jack… he didn't stay free, last night. He returned to them. He _**chose** _to return to them…_

David didn't know what to say. He was sure he was ogling the other boy now, staring at him without really seeing the faux Jack standing before him. There was no sign of the familiar, ratty bandana… no cowboy hat hanging lithely down his back. Just a grey suit that cemented the truth. Jack really had sold him out – he had turned scab for Pulitzer. He lowered his gaze. He couldn't look at Jack just then.

Vaguely, he was aware of some of the others dragging Spot away. In the back of his mind, he thought he knew why Boots had been afraid of going to Brooklyn alone; Spot really could be intimidating when he got going. But David Jacobs wasn't really focusing on that – he was focusing on the boy before him who was trying his damndest to look as if the hollers from his once-allies were not bothering him; but he broke any eye contact, mimicking David almost, as he looked to the dirt.

Weasel caught him glaring at Jack – it was impossible not to notice; if there was fire behind that betrayed expression, Jack would have been ablaze – and beckoned David forward.

David tried to keep his emotions in check as he walked forward. He was angry – so very angry at this sudden betrayal – but he did not want to give Jack the satisfaction of knowing the extent of that anger.

Their eyes met briefly before Jack turned away. David kept his head up as he took a few steps away from Weasel – the fat man was smiling, his hands stuck into pockets as he wordlessly taunted the other boys. Jack followed him. He was waiting for it.

David didn't surprise him. The first thing he did was grab at Jack's fancy new suit jacket with his left hand. "So, this is why you didn't escape last night," he began, quite conversationally, though the tone of his voice revealed his true feelings. Jack lifted his head and mumbled a quick "Yeah" under his breath; he was meeting David's gaze now, staring accusingly back. As if this was all the other boy's fault.

_How dare he look at me like? _"You're a liar! You lied about everything. You lied about your father being out west, 'cause he's not out west! You didn't even tell me your real name!" He knew he sounded hurt – and he didn't care.

Neither, it seemed, did Jack. He shrugged. "So? What you wanna do about it Dave?" There was a quick, almost unnoticeable, toss of his head and a mocking pout.

"I don't understand you."

Jack was quick with a response – but, when he spoke, it sounded like he was trying to justify his own actions rather than explain them to David. "Oh, so let me spell it out for ya. You see, I ain't got nobody tucking me in at night, like you. It's just me, I gotta look out for myself."

The jab at David's family was too much. It hit him hard and he took a second to recover… a second to come up with some kind of retort.

"You had the newsies."

Jack had an answer for that, too. "Oh, what'd being a newsies ever give me but a dime a day and a few black eyes? You know, I can't afford to be a kid no more, Dave. For the first time in my life, I got money in my pockets," he said, jingling the coins in his pockets for effect. "Real money. Money, you understand? I got more on the way and as soon as I collect, I'm gone, I'm away. Alright?"

"Well, that's good. That's good 'cause we don't need you!" David shot back. Whether he meant the words or not did not matter; what mattered is that they were said. "We don't need you! All those words you said, those were mine."

It was a low blow, admittedly. Jack, throughout the entire strike, had prided himself on being the leader, being the kid that got it done. It wasn't a secret that David was the brains behind the whole thing but Jack didn't go about giving him as much credit as he deserved – and it was time that David told him that he realized that all along.

However, Jack was not about to let him get the last words. "Yeah, but you never had the guts to put them across yourself, didja?"

"I do now."

David got the last words in, anyway. And with that, he turned away from this new Jack – or had he been this selfish all along? – and started to head back to the others. But, when he looked into the crowd, he saw the effects of Jack's betrayal splayed out across their faces. Mush looked hurt, Race angry, Spot livid. And there was Les… he looked like he was about to cry.

Slowly, he spun back around. His heart was pumping and he couldn't explain the anger that he felt coursing through his veins. But, when he met Jack's face that second time, and he had the nerve to _mock_ him, he snapped.

"What'sa matta? Got a problem?"

Before he knew it, he had rushed forward. And he would have hit Jack, too – would have made him _hurt_ – if Weasel hadn't stopped him.

The man's breath felt like hot air oozing down David's neck as he inserted his large body between the two boys. "Maybe you'd like a new suit of your own, huh?"

"Never!" David hollered, wanting nothing more than to strike out at Jack – and then Weasel. "Never!"

Weasel smirked and handed him off to a crew of policeman that were standing by. "Get outta here! Off with him!"

David tried to twist around so that he could get at Jack. It was impossible, though, with countless bodies intervening. He did, after all that, get the final words. He just hoped they caused as much damage to Jack as his did.

"I'm not like you!"

--

It hurt to watch Jack be protected by ones he had fought so hard against. His betrayal was a great blow to their strike efforts and, after seeing him be led away to go sell his papers, none of the newsies felt up to fighting against the authorities. At least, that's how David felt. Fighting his way through the crowd, Les tagging along behind him, he went home.

Les wanted to talk, wanted to ask his big brother just what Jack's plan was – because, to the boy's mind, Jack had to be spying for their side; he could not accept that Jack had sold them out – but David could not be bothered with him right now. All he wanted to do was sit down and think.

Which was exactly what he did. He sat at the kitchen table, brooding to himself. Les, never one for dwelling on the past, found something else to occupy him. By the time that Sarah came home from making her morning deliveries, he had forgotten all about Jack.

David had not, though. In fact, it must be said, he had done nothing but stew on what had happened down at the distribution center. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Jack, mocking him in that grey scabber suit. Even though he heard Les droning on endlessly, talking about who knows what in the background, David heard Jack's voice.

_So? What you wanna do about it Dave?_

David snorted to himself. There was plenty of things that he wanted to do… but he wouldn't. After all, that's why he was sitting in his kitchen, alone.

He heard Sarah as she started to shuffle through one of the dresser drawers, putting away her piecework. There was a crinkle of paper followed by her voice. "Les. What is this?"

"Savin' it." A typical Les-type answer. Though he wasn't really paying attention to what was going on in that part of the apartment, he couldn't help wondering what Les was saving in Sarah's lace drawer.

The crinkly of paper intensified and there was silence for a moment. Then… "David." Sarah was calling to him. Despite his better intention, he stood up from the table and poked his head in the room. When Sarah saw that he was listening, she continued to speak. "It's Denton's article. 'The Dark Truth; Why Our City Really Fears The Newsies Strike' by Bryan Denton. 'Last night I saw naked force excised against mere boys, the newsies, who were…'"

He didn't listen to much of Sarah said. As soon as she even uttered the name Denton – the paper in her hand was obviously the copy of Denton's article that he had refused to read – David stormed past her. Wasn't it just like Sarah to mention another betrayal when he was so obviously smarting from Jack's turn against him.

David escaped her by slipping out the window and slamming the glass pane down behind him. The bit of force exerted made him feel a tad better but he was still seething. Before he knew what he was doing, he had started to descend the fire escape, stomping his feet with every step.


	2. Part Two

Note: _Okay, well here's the second half of the some-what prologue to the fic. In this chapter, we finish showing the movie from David's POV and start going in the direction that this beast will take. This is the last chapter with a T-rating. All the really mature stuff starts with the next bit – not that you won't enjoy this chapter, too. It's good (and important). Promise._

Disclaimer: _The movie characters highlighted in this awesome piece of work, unfortunately, do not belong to us. They are owned by Disney (© 1992-) and appear here because we made them. But we're not making any money off of them, so it's all good. The original characters included were donated generously because their creator's had no idea what they were in for._

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_These Brutal Streets_

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PART TWO

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Jack, David learned again and again as the strike came closer to an end, was quite prone to changing his mind. When he said that he was looking out for himself, he had been telling the truth – it just turned out that, given the opportunity, he was pretty good at looking out for other people, too.

Though it had only been a couple of days since Jack swapped his Pulitzer-bought, hoity toity clothes for his stained undershirt and worn bandana, David still wasn't sure what happened.

That was understandable, though. For most of the rash encounter with the Delancey brothers, he had been a bit preoccupied with getting beaten.

_He had been out alone at the start of that morning, the day after he learned that Jack had sold them out. He didn't see the point in meeting up with some of the others – he was not the only one stinging from their supposed leader's betrayal. So, rather than join up with the boys down at the distribution center, he had chosen to go off on his own._

_David had risen early and taken to the streets before Les had stirred; therefore, the younger boy went out with Sarah on her lace deliveries. He was with Sarah when she accidentally ran into the Delancey brothers – and it was Les that drew David's attention to the scuffle._

_Seeing his brother on the ground from down the street, David rushed forward and helped the boy to his feet. "What's the matter?" he had asked, very concerned. "Are you alright?"_

_Les hurriedly pointed into the nearby alley. "I'm alright. I'm alright. Help Sarah!"_

_David followed Les's finger and saw that Morris Delancey was groping his sister. She was braver than he had ever given her credit for; as soon as her eyes fell on him, she called to him. "Run Davey!"_

_Oscar Delancey was standing in front of her, as if he was the acting shield. He sneered at the other boy. "Yeah, run Davey. We got the best part of your family right here."_

_The taunts rang in David's ears. Though his common sense told him to stay put or, perhaps, call out for help – signal a passing policeman, anything – he was not listening to his common sense. Instead, he felt a fire in the pit of his stomach and snapped. Before he knew it, he had run straight at Oscar, his head aiming for the other boy's abdomen._

_He knew Oscar had to be strong but he never expected him to be able to throw him to the ground almost as easily as a rag doll. He fell to the rough ground but, almost right away, Oscar had dragged him to his feet and started to hit him as hard as he could._

_David could hear Sarah's shout coming from somewhere behind him. "Leave him alone… Stop it!" But Oscar didn't pay her any mind. Instead, he turned David around and got him into a hold where he was utterly defenseless. That's when David noticed that Morris had thrown Sarah to the side – he was now getting ready to hit him: with brass knuckles, no less._

_He was waiting for the hit. He knew it would hurt – hurt real bad – and he was as ready as he would ever be. Morris was standing before him, repositioning the metal circling his fingers, laughing. He obviously knew it would hurt, too._

_And that's when David saw Jack. As if he was his own personal guardian angel, Jack appeared out of nowhere just in time to whirl Morris around and punch him dead in the face – not once, not twice, but three times. Oscar, watching as his brother got pummeled, slacked his hold on David and David took the chance to elbow him in the stomach._

_After kneeing Morris and tossing him into a pile of boxes, Jack reached for Oscar. "Remember Crutchy?" he asked, reminding Oscar of one of his more helpless victims. Jack, however, was not helpless – he butted his head against Oscar's before letting him to fall to the ground, beside his filthy brother._

_David didn't really pay that much attention to what happened right after Jack helped Sarah to her feet. There were words exchanged and the two of them even shared a quick hug – he saw that, at least. The Delancey brother's hurried away, their tails between their legs as they shouted out frightened threats. _

_Jack had turned towards David and was helping him to stand, checking him over for any damage the others might have inflicted, when he heard the Delancey's make their escape. He turned around and made to run after them but a soft touch from Sarah stopped him. Les, following in the steps of his adopted hero, ran to the end of the alley and hollered out, "Run! Get outta here! Don't come back! You hear me?"_

_After David got over the shock of Jack purposely coming to his – their – rescue, he adopted a scornful expression. "What, you couldn't stay away?"_

"_Well, I guess I can't be something I ain't."_

"_A scab?"_ _David said, almost mockingly._

_Jack shook his head. There was a hint of a smile playing out on his face as he shoved his hands in his pockets.  
__  
"No. Smart."_

Things seemed to speed up after that. Despite his better judgment, David forgave Jack (as much as he could) – though much of that credit could be given to Les and Sarah. They were so impressed at the way that Jack had come running into the alley to save the day. David knew that he would never hear the end of it if he held onto his grudge.

That wasn't to say, of course, that David wasn't grateful for Jack's arrival. It was odd – ever since he came in and saved David from a vicious beating, David had been feeling way too… too something that he couldn't describe. He was sure it was just gratitude and, as they turned their attention to settling the strike as soon as possible, he pushed it aside.

It was a long night, that one. Sarah had, before David could stop her from meddling, given Jack Denton's article. As quickly as he read it he had snatched David by the arm and all but dragged him to see Denton. From there it was straight to the basement of the distribution center where the four of them – David, Jack, Denton and Sarah – worked on what would eventually sway the strike over in their favor: The Newsies Banner.

Much of the time between the encounter with Morris and Oscar Delancey to when Les finally was able to proclaim to throngs of waiting working children that "We beat 'em" passed by for David in a blur. It was only after the whole truth settled in; that the newsies had won, but Jack was, courtesy of no one less than the Governor himself, getting a ride to the train yards that David really knew what was going on.

Jack was leaving. He had betrayed David's trust again. Without so much as a goodbye, Jack Kelly had hopped in Teddy Roosevelt's carriage and was gone.

And, as he stood there, alongside his brother and sister, David could only hope that Jack's fickle nature would lead him to change his mind once more. He couldn't really be leaving for good… could he?

He sighed. The distribution bell began to ring, the shrill sound cutting through David's sorrow as easily as a warm knife through butter. He sighed and wiped his hands against his pants. The newsies had won the strike; as such, they had to go back to work.

The other boys, still high in spirits over their victory, took their time making their way to the distribution window. There was much merriment, and a dance or two, as they crossed the square. It was due to their frolic that, when a new man, so unlike Weasel, opened up the window, David was first in line. With a happiness he had to feign, he slapped his money down on the counter. "Hundred papes."

A couple of the boys waiting on line behind him whistled at him for his newfound confidence. Mush even offered an, "Alright, Davey," with a friendly pat on the back. David smiled before realizing that the cheering behind him had gotten louder. They weren't just congratulating him anymore.

"Dave, he's back," Mush offered, as they all turned to see the cause of the cheering. It was nearly impossible to miss it – the governor's carriage was coming back. Jack was coming back.

He could have sworn that his heart skipped a beat. He stood, frozen, at the head of the line, watching as the carriage pulled up to that gates. Jack, his bag in hand, turned back and said something to the governor that David couldn't hear. He smiled and exited the carriage.

_I don't believe it. Jack… he came back_. Deep down, he knew that Jack would return – whether it was wishful thinking or not. And, as he watched the boy make his way through the crowd, he could not help but smile.

Jack paused only once as he made his way forward – he placed his worn cowboy hat on Les's head. Then, though all of the other boys were clamoring for his attention, he went straight to David. Their eyes met and Jack smirked.

"So," he said, as casually as he could. "How's the headline today?"

David knew he looked goofy but the smile would not dim. So, in order to take the attention off of his obvious elation at Jack's return, he reached behind him and pulled out his newsboy cap. Jamming it onto his head of curls, David tried to mimic Jack's handsome smirk. "Headlines don't sell papes. Newsies sell papes."

Jack laughed. For the first time, it was David using his words instead of the other way around. "Come here, Davey," he said, spitting in his hand and sticking it out.

David copied the gesture and the pair of them shook. Jack's hand was warm and firm in his grasp; for a fleeting instance, he had the desire to hold tight to that hand and never let go.

He did not, of course, though it was not for a lack of trying. Just then, another person made their way through the crowd: Sarah. Her long, brown hair framing her pretty face, Sarah reached Jack and, quite contrary to his expectation, started to kiss Jack.

And not just a simple, chaste, Society-accepted kiss, either. The catcalls and whistles that erupted from the crowd showed him that the others appreciated the scene, even if it was not one they thought they would see.

David was glad that the crowd's attention was on the spectacle in the center. That way, no one saw the scowl that replaced his sappy grin.

For some strange reason, he had never expected Jack and Sarah to be together.

--

David couldn't believe how much time had lapsed since the strike; since the astonishment of finding out Jack was really that interested in his sister. He ran his hand through his curly tresses and cursed under his breath.

Standing next to the bed, he looked at the tattered school books spread across the sheets. He picked one up and flipped through it, trying to clear his head. Sighing, he sat down on the edge of the bed and gathered the books in a neat pile, shoving them into a brown bag.

"Why do I have to go back to school now?" David whined out loud, falling back on his bed and closing his eyes.

Just a few weeks ago he was standing with the other boys, blindly diving into the excitement of the Newsies' Strike. They had become a legend in such a short time and now it was back to normal life. It felt like a dream… a damn good one. For once in his life, David had felt like a leader and now here he was, going back to school like a good boy.

"David?" His father called from the kitchen, forcing David to his feet. They shuffled him slowly towards the door and he leaned his body against the frame, looking up at his father. His right arm was no longer bound and he looked healthier than he had seen him in months.

"I know what you're thinking, son… I know it's going to be hard to be away from your friends…" his dad started.

As David opened his mouth to interrupt, his father put his hand up and spoke again. "David. I'll let you sell in the evenings, but only if you continue to excel at your studies."

David's eyes widened and the corners of his mouth stretched wide as he grinned. "You mean it, Pa?" he asked, trying to contain his excitement.

His father nodded, grabbing his sack of lunch and heading towards the door. "Just behave alright? I don't want no legend son of mine to start getting into trouble with the police now…" he joked.

"I promise I'll be fine Pa…" David smiled, watching his father leave, feeling as though he could skip the whole way to school. Maybe this school thing wasn't such a terrible thing after all.


	3. Part Three

Note: _Well, look at that. A third chapter. And, if you're reading this, then you realize that the rating as finally been changed and it is (deservedly so) in the M section of the site. I hope you guys like this chapter and please make sure that you do review it. Bittah and Stress are total attention whores – it does them good to get their daily dosage of ego boosting. And, we also want to encourage you guys to make predictions as to what you think is going on… Hehe._

Disclaimer: _The movie characters highlighted in this awesome piece of work, unfortunately, do not belong to us. They are owned by Disney (© 1992-) and appear here because we made them. But we're not making any money off of them, so it's all good. The original characters included were donated generously because their creator's had no idea what they were in for._

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_These Brutal Streets_

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PART THREE

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David looked upwards at the brick building and sighed one last time before trudging inside, his feet dragging more with each step. He rubbed his eyes and read each room's number carefully, looking from the crumpled sheet in his hand to each door. After a half a dozen doors, he stood before the one he would spend the next several hours in.

Shrugging the pack of books from one shoulder to another, he folded the sheet carefully and stepped inside. When he looked up at the teacher, his jaw set and his body tense, all she did was silently point to an empty seat.

Following the path of her finger, he found his eyes locking onto a pair of dark green ones, sparkling and attached to the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. The girl's eyes were set perfectly apart on her pale, freckled face, her nose small and cute. Her lips were crimson and slightly apart as if she wished to say something to him. That's when his eyes fell on the curves of her body; she was utter perfection.

His breath caught in his throat and he moved forward as if being pulled along by an imaginary rope. Unprepared, he stood in front of her, his cheeks turning slowly to a deep shade of crimson before the teacher interrupted his embarrassing display of interest.

"Mr. Jacobs would you _please_ have a seat so I can start class?" the old, crass woman said, her hands on her hips and her glare even as he turned to meet it.

The teacher wouldn't have been bad looking if she had been younger. Her hair was slowly graying from its strawberry blonde color and her eyes were something else, even hidden behind the glasses she wore: sparkling blue and piercing. There were lines of aging spread generously across her face, but her skin would have been soft and smooth without them. David also noticed that she was not badly shaped for a woman of her age.

David finally took his seat, side-glancing at the girl next to him. He noticed her wealthy way of dressing, layers of skirts and an obvious corset beneath her top dress, her breasts quite noticeable in the way they were pushed upwards. Only when she glanced back at him could he tear his eyes away from her, the reddening of his cheeks a sign that she had caught him staring at her.

It was quite a challenge to keep his eyes trained forward during the hours of school, shifting nervously as his mind failed to grasp any of the ideas that the teacher was trying to embed in her students' minds. The school day seemed strenuous, David dazing in and out of daydreams, constantly shaking his head as if to knock some sense back into himself. Alas, he didn't learn a thing. Well he learned that he could harbor an insane amount of attraction for the young lady next to him, and that he was willing to risk talking to her after class. He didn't decide that last part until five minutes before school was dismissed; when he decided that he could muster the courage to speak to her, even if he indeed did make a complete fool out of himself.

Luckily, he did not have to make the first move. The young woman was out of her seat and stepping towards him before he even had a chance to shove his books into his bag. He stood up clumsily, almost knocking the whole desk over as he tried to seem the least bit composed.

"I'm Amalia…" she introduced herself with a small curtsy. "Amalia Palmer."

"I'm David," he stammered, his hand twitching to shoot out for a handshake as he tried to remember what proper etiquette was. "David Jacobs," he added a moment later, at a loss for what to do. He stood nervously, shifting from one foot to another.

"You… um…" the girl started, pushing her fingers through her crimson hair nervously. "Would you like to accompany me home? I only live a few blocks down and my mum told me to ask a nice boy to walk me there because no one could come and get me…" the words were out of her mouth in a flurry, her cheeks reddening and her eyes training downwards to the floor.

David stared at her for a moment, nodding and choking out a reply of 'yes' before springing into action. He quickly gathered his things, his cheeks flushing at the idea of guiding her home. On one hand, he couldn't believe his good fortune; Amalia wished for _him_ to walk her home that day. He had not said one word to her and still she asked for his company.

David felt like dancing and probably would have if she hadn't been standing diligently behind him, her hands clasped together on the bag in front of her. Her eyes were bright and wide when he turned back to her. "Shall we?" she asked, obviously embarrassed that she had been so forward.

Nodding, David followed her out of the classroom silently and down the hall. Neither said a word until they were outside. Amalia had paused and turned to him, her gaze forcing him to nervously slide a hand through his curly tresses.

"Which way?" he asked when she did not speak.

"That way…" Amalia responded, pointing absentmindedly as she studied him. Unsure of what had attracted her to him, she found herself scrutinizing his appearance from his curly hair to his small eyes and finally his barely average physique.

David managed to trace a bit of manners from his memory and offered her his arm. A smile fell across her beautiful features, her teeth sparkling in the sunlight, lined perfectly like a set of expensive pearls.

Amalia wrapped her arm in his, pulling herself closer to his body as they began to walk. "Do you live nearby?" she inquired of him, her voice soft and sweet.

He looked at her with a small smile, trying his damnedest not to stare down her dress and at her prominent bosom. "A few blocks the opposite way, but I was heading this way anyways…" he said, and upon seeing her questioning look he continued. "I, uh, sell newspapers after school," he explained to her.

Her eyes widened in delight. "Oh you must know that Jack Kelly character than, the one that was in the paper… Oh my lord! You were in it too, weeks ago, in that picture with all the boys!" she exclaimed with surprise, just realizing now why she had recognized him.

"Oh, you read that did you?" David asked, blushing once again. "Jack Kelly's a good friend of mine, even courting my sister." He didn't know why he had said that last phrase, shaking his head slightly.

"He is?" she asked, her mouth agape, showing a cute little tongue among her pearly whites.

David looked away from her for a moment. "Yeah, it's quite interesting…" he said.

"I bet! I mean, he seems like a great person and such a leader!" The words burned at him for a reason he knew not. "She must be the happiest girl alive!" she added, not sensing him flinching besides her.

"That's what I'm worried about," he mumbled under his breath, an indistinguishable slur of words.

"Sorry, I didn't catch what you said," Amalia said politely, glancing at him curiously.

"It's of no importance," he commented, forcing a smile. "What about your family?" he asked, overly ready to change the subject.

"Oh I just have my mum and pa, only child. They treat me like a boy sometimes and like a girl at others. They really are odd. They want me to be educated and maybe go to college but then they talk of marriage and all these dresses I'm forced to wear…" she trailed off, noticing she was rambling on about it. "So sorry," she said apologetically.

"Nothing to be sorry about," David commented sincerely.

Amalia stopped abruptly in front of a fairly wealthy looking home and pulled away from him. She looked up at him abashedly and blushed as she leaned up and kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you for walking me home," she said, turning on her heel and hurrying up the stairs before he could react.

David stood there for a few minutes, his hand pressed to his cheek with a loopy grin on his face, just watching her house. Shaking his head, he finally turned and strode down the street towards the Manhattan Lodging House. _What a day_… he thought.

--

The scene before David could be called comical, at best. The first thing he had noticed was a pair of girls, giggling and pointing from their position on the couch. He didn't know who they were, but seemed entranced by their demeanor all the same. The first was of normal build and height, with striking blue eyes and light red hair that went all the way down to the middle of her back. Unbeknown to him, her name was Trouble. The second girl was an average girl with chestnut colored hair, the red in it sparkling in the sunshine as he took a closer look. Freckles were splattered across her nose and her eyes were a lovely blue-green color, but David was fixed on her lips, her laughing, trembling lips. Her name was Gimmick, and her arm was extended and pointing at the ruckus on the other end of the room.

His eyes slowly following the direction her arm was pointing in, he found something he did not expect. Jack Kelly was looming over a girl of average height, her fists balled at her sides and her body tense in front of him. David noticed her trembling bottom lip, but there was anything but fear in her fierce emerald eyes as Jack tried to bully her from her firm stance. Her eyes remained wide and piercing as his hand shot out and knocked the grey cap from her head. David watched the cap fall to the ground, looking up the moment it hit to see her dirty blonde hair billow out around her chin.

"Get out of my lodging house!" Jack said fiercely, crossing his arms and glaring down to meet her eyes. Their gaze seemed more potent now, even from across the room, no longer hidden beneath the shadow of her cap. She didn't move.

Well, not until Jack unfolded his hands, and that's when she swung her right fist upwards, connecting with his cheek as the other was thrown hard into his stomach. He was on his knees, gasping for air when she kneed him hard under the chin, making him fall backwards, his hands flailing to catch himself.

She spat at him defiantly, glaring around the room before returning to look at the boy she had just grounded. "Fuck you and your fucking ego, I should've never set a foot near you, you bloody rat bastard. If I ever see your bloody face again I'll wipe the floor with your blood, Jack Kelly…" the words were harsh, spoken in a rough, yet melodically feminine voice. She turned on her heel and strode out of the lodging house seconds later, the door slamming behind her as if announcing the finality of her exit.

David watched as the girl left, his mouth agape at what had just happened, his feet glued to the ground. There was another girl behind Jack, standing in the doorway of the kitchen, biting her nails and shaking her head worriedly. Her brown and blonde curls bounced across her back as she rushed past in a deadly sprint, her green eyes wide with concern. "Bittah!" she called after the girl as she reached the door, throwing it open and rushing out into the sunlight.

Jack pushed himself to his feet, spitting the blood from his mouth onto the floor and shaking his head. He trudged towards the kitchen for some ice, packing it in a kitchen towel and pressing it to his cheek where it seared in pain. A few of the guys followed him, shaking their heads. "What a dame…" one of them commented and another responded with something more crude.

Jack grinned lopsidedly at David, who followed them wordlessly, still in shock of what he had just seen. "All I did was some innocent flirting, she's worse off for not taking me up on my offer…" he joked, getting all the young men around him laughing heartily.

"Why Jack, she sure didn't seem to appreciate what you had said to her…" Racetrack said, his tone one of amusement.

"Nah, girls like that need to fight to get the hormones going," he said the words, bringing a smirk to his face. "I figure she'll be back tonight for a little one on one time…"

That set off another round of crude comments and suggestions and before David knew it Jack was shouting about going off to Medda's place. A throng of young men followed after him, rambunctious. The only thing David could do was follow along, and that he did.

--

When David came home, he was dead tired. A night out with the boys could be quite the energy killer and he'd need all his energy to make it through school tomorrow. He planned on seeing her again, the lovely Miss Amalia Palmer. His head was in the clouds as he sunk into the worn mattress, pulling the quilts up around him. Turning on his side, he found it odd that the bed next to him was empty. Shaking the thought out of his head, he yawned, closed his eyes, and was asleep within minutes, not giving a second thought to Sarah's empty bed.

The next morning he awoke with screams filling his ears. He woke up in a sweat, wiping his forehead of the beads and throwing the quilts aside. On his feet, he followed the sound of the cries out to the small balcony (if one could even call it that) and down the steps of the fire escape.

He stopped not three steps down and gaped at the lifeless form lying at the bottom of the stairs, his parents sobbing and Les's face buried protectively in his mother's bosom. The plain brown hair of his sister's body was fanned out on the ground. He only saw her for a moment before a coroner slid a sheet over her body, shaking his head. "To die so young…" he heard the man say.


	4. Part Four

Note: _And, yes, it's time for the fourth chapter. I must say that we totally adored the reviews left for the last chapter. I guess none of you guys were expecting poor Sarah to bite it but, trust us, it had to happen (and not just for the lame "now-Jack-isn't-taken" reason either). Here's the next bit of the story – enjoy it and, yes, go ahead and continue making predictions and whatnot. Who knows? You might actually stumble onto something close to the truth :)_

Disclaimer: _The movie characters highlighted in this awesome piece of work, unfortunately, do not belong to us. They are owned by Disney (© 1992-) and appear here because we made them. But we're not making any money off of them, so it's all good. The original characters included were donated generously because their creator's had no idea what they were in for._

--

_These Brutal Streets_

--

PART FOUR

--

The girl wiped the blood from her lip off onto the back of her hand before transferring it onto her dusty slacks. Her face stung as she let her fingers travel across it lightly, searching for bruises. The cap she never went without sat in her other hand, her fingertips working the roundness of it around in her hand.

She was leaning against the wall of an alley – but not the alley she had bloodied herself and two boys in just minutes earlier. No, this alley was close to a favorite bar of hers: the place she would be going to after she ascertained that she looked half-way decent to the naked eye.

Not ever having owned a mirror, she withdrew her dagger from beneath her pants leg and twisted it to catch a bit of light from the streetlamp. Catching a glimpse of her hazy, green eyes, she angled it slightly lower. Her lip was busted open, the last bit of blood seeping from it caught against her tongue as she wisped the redness of it across her lips. There was a large bruise forming slowly on her left cheek and, as she angled the dagger lower, she found her chin was scraped open as well.

She remembered how she had received that one, her face scraping against the harsh brick wall, a hand entangled in her hair, trying to knock her unconscious. Her free hand had saved her, twisting it away from the boy's hold at the last minute to push against the wall.

The girl sighed, done looking at her dirty, bloodied face. The rest of her was simply covered in unseen bruises; she had a slight limp to her right leg as she staggered out into the street. But, beyond the promise of the relief the liquor would award her, there was nothing else she could do.

Placing her cap back onto her crown, she shoved her short hair up into the sides of it. She walked slowly as she adjusted the cap over her eyes, praying that it would overshadow a good portion of her face. Stepping inside the bar, the girl inhaled the familiar aroma of cigarettes, alcohol and potent body odor emanating from the bar's customers. For some strange reason, it made her feel just a bit better.

Taking a table in a dark corner, she tapped her fingers against its jagged edge. If the table hadn't been a good few inches thick of wood, it would have fallen apart years ago. There were chunks taken out of most of the tabletop, and much of the side, from one brawl or another. The girl ran her fingers along those nearest to her, losing herself in thought.

The few waitresses left at the bar were fairly plain women with thin curves exemplified by their corsets and worn, flowing skirts. Not looking up at the woman before her, she ordered a whiskey in a gruff voice. Being a frequenter of that particular establishment, the woman did not question her; instead, she just scurried off towards the bar without a word.

The only reason she _did_ look up was when every other mug in the place turned their eyes toward the door. There stood Stress, looking around with a concerned look plastered on her face, her hands entwined in each other, resting in front of her. They locked eyes for just a second before the girl, Bittah, glanced away scowling.

Her friend was before her in mere seconds, sitting down in the chair next to her with an exasperated sigh. "I knew I'd find you here."

Those words normally would have prompted some sort of response, but not today. Bittah was not in the mood to talk. Maybe it was her stinging, puffy lip or just the fact that she was tired, but she made no movement whatsoever.

Stress knew that her friend was brooding something awful, and, being used to the silent treatment, began talking. "So things are just crazy, with you up and leaving and with Jack's Sarah kicking the bucket randomly in the middle of the night. Speaking of night, where the hell were you all night? Sleeping in some alley? I looked all over for you until near midnight and you didn't turn up…"

When Bittah didn't respond, Stress simply went on talking. "So Sarah… they found her this morning at the bottom of the stairs, ice cold. David's all blank stares and gloomy and Jack was bawling on the crapper for hours and holed up in his room after that."

Stress's dramatic sigh sounded long and wearily from her throat, her hand on her forehead and her body slumped forward. Bittah's scowl only deepened as her eyes flashed to her friend. Of course Stress was fully aware of that quick glance and scrutinized her friend more thoroughly.

"Been fighting again Bits?" she questioned with a touch of motherly concern, her hand slowly gravitating towards her swollen cheek. Stress's fingertips twitched inches away from the bruise, the back of Bittah's hand slapping against her wrist as she brushed her arm away easily. "Hey!"

"Nothing I can't handle," Bittah's voice finally rose gruffly, her eyes a searing grey as they slid to gaze at her friend. Seeing her friend's face light up in painful concern, she let out a breath of air and forced a smile. "Who knows? Maybe the Delancey brothers' murdered Sarah?" she joked.

Stress grinned in reply, shaking her head. "The Delancey's are gone, genius. They're out of New York, or did you miss that news flash too?" she berated her friend with humor in her tone.

The girl shrugged. "Then maybe it was that new gang?" her smile twisted slowly into a smirk, a brilliance of mischief glinting in her eyes.

"Gang?" Stress's eyes were widening slowly, an effect that made Bittah chuckle lowly. "Some new gang?"

"Yeah… I just trounced two of them in some alley. Of course when I asked what gang they were from, one of the boys whispered 'Crimson'. Though, he may have been talking about all that blood getting into his eyes from me cracking his skull into the nearest wall," Bittah looked deep in thought, replaying the scene in her mind. "Yeah, well anyways, never heard neither hide nor hair of them, so I figured they're new to town."

Again she shrugged, as if gangs did not matter, as if she could care less, which was probably true of Bittah. Not being the type to be scared of much of anything, at least nothing that she would openly admit to; fighting gangs just seemed to fit in with her everyday life.

Finally looking down, Bittah realized the ice in her whiskey was nearly fully melted; the tiny splinters of ice glistening in the orange-brown liquid. She picked it up – unaware of the expression on Stress's face as the glass was lifted – and swirled the ice cubes around in it until they were melted. She then shot it down her throat in one gulp.

Slamming the glass back down onto the table, Bittah closed her eyes and smiled at the warmth and pain relief it brought her, slowly sinking back into the chair. "Horrible stuff," she grinned as she caught sight of the concern wrought across her friend's face.

"Bittah… What am I going to do with you?" Stress sighed, shaking her head slowly.

"Don't worry Stress. I plan on skipping town anyways. Maybe keep out of trouble for once and go somewhere else." Her reply was weary and without humor, full of a serious demeanor that Stress wasn't used to. It kept her silent, gazing at the girl next to her in astonishment.

"Don't look at me like that Stress," Bittah continued. "I ain't going far, maybe Harlem, or the Bronx, or god only knows Brooklyn."

Stress just shook her head slowly, trying to grasp what she was saying. "I suppose Jack really meant it huh?" she questioned her friend, wanting her opinion on the previous situation at the Manhattan Lodging House. All she received though was a solemn nod and then they were both on their feet, Bittah first, then Stress.

"I'll drop by in a few days, so don't worry okay Stress?" Bittah spoke without sentiment, without really asking, just letting her friend know that she wasn't about to disappear forever.

It was Stress's turn to nod, letting her friend walk past without following her. Not until Bittah had departed from the bar did she notice that there was no change next to the empty glass. "Bittah…" she groaned as she dug around in her pocket for her spare change. "That girl is going to be the death of me!"

Going through a handful of pennies, she counted enough that would cover the cost of Bittah's drink. Not one for drinking herself – it was only when she remembered that she was looking for Bittah that she thought to look in a bar – she wasn't too sure how much it was. Shaking her head, she dropped the money down before turning to leave the bar. Maybe Jack was finally over his sudden grief; it's not like anyone thought that he really fancied Sarah Jacobs anyway. He was too much of a flirt.

As Stress made her way out of the dark establishment, one set of blue eyes watched her go. They were crinkled in amusement and were attached to a fair face that was currently grinning widely. The girl had been sharing a drink with a young man she had met over in Central Park but, as soon as she heard Stress's distinctive voice, she had kept one ear on the conversation coming from behind her. The way Cecilia saw it, you never knew when you could learn something worth learning, if only you kept your eyes and ears open and your mouth shut.

Like most of the people who either lived at or frequently haunted the Newsboys Lodging House – Cecilia Rayner was part of the latter – she had heard the news: that the Jacobs girl had been found dead. And, though she had only just been found, rumors had already been abound that it was foul play.

She turned her head back and smiled coyly at the man sitting across from her. He had done nothing but ogle her since they arrived and, while that normally did not bother her, Cecilia found his stare bothersome. Without a word, she daintily lifted her glass and finished it. Then, when there was nothing else keeping her tethered to his side, she slowly rose. "Thanks for the drink, darlin'," she said, batting her eyelashes seductively. "Make sure to look me up some time." She reached out and ran her finger down the side of his stubbly cheek.

Then, before he could try to convince her to remain in his company, Cecilia smiled again and followed the open path towards the bar's exit. Her head was running through the brief conversation that Bittah and Stress had shared; when she got to the part where Bittah had mentioned a gang, her lips curved again.

Cecilia could not wait to go back to the Lodging House and tell them all who she thought was responsible for Sarah's death.

--

True to the Jewish faith, Sarah Jacobs' funeral was held as soon as possible. Though her father had wanted her buried the very same day that she was found, Esther Jacobs could not part with her only daughter's body straight away; instead, it was decided that the funeral would be early the next morning.

There was a torrent of young men at the actual gravesite. The strong, lean figure of Jack Kelly was quite a picture, dressed all in black and tears lining his eyes. After finally recovering from the shock of Sarah's death the eve before, he had sat with the Jacobs' family overnight as they made the funeral preparations and performed the funeral rites. Now, though, David stared at him from the other side of his sister's grave blankly, remembering how just two days ago he seemed not to care for her at all.

But today Jack had pulled everyone he could from the Lodging House to grieve with her family. David couldn't grasp the gravity of the situation; he couldn't even cry for his dearly departed sister. All he could do was stare blankly at everyone.

Her body had been placed in a wooden coffin that had been nailed shut before the carriage brought it to the burial site. David couldn't help but think that half of the boys that followed Jack to the funeral came because they wanted to see Sarah's dead body. Though his face remained emotionless, as if there was a plaster mask in its place, David was angered to see these boys pretending to mourn Sarah. Hadn't they all seen death before? Why did they need to be there?

The funeral service itself passed David by in a blur. To him, it felt as if this whole occurrence was nothing more than an elaborate dream. That, any moment now, Sarah was going to come into his room, her voice laughing as she told him to get up and get ready for school.

At least until the casket was placed inside the waiting, vacant grave. There was a pull inside of him – a strange sense of reality settled over him and the truth finally reached his consciousness. Sarah was dead. She had fallen down the steps inside of the apartment building, twisted her neck and died. She would not be coming back.

The rabbi set the spade down in the dirt and gestured to it. David watched as Jack approached the spade and, lifting a shovelful of earth, tossed it on top of the casket. He did this twice more before placing the spade back into the dirt and taking his place back beside the grave. The rabbi then pointed at the boy standing next to Jack – Kid Blink – and Blink did the same thing that Jack did.

David knew that this act of letting the mourners – excluding immediate family, of course – cover the casket with the dirt was done in order for them to receive closure… but, just then, he felt as if it was all a farce. Maybe of them all, Jack was the only one who was sorry that Sarah had died, but why should the others take part in the ceremony?

Clenching his fists tightly, he did not say a word, nor did he shed a single tear. He just watched. Almost as if he was not the deceased's brother but, instead a mere spectator, David just watched as his only sister was swallowed up the earth.


	5. Part Five

Note: _Well, here's the next bit. Any of the historical and cultural bases in this chapter is taken from an entry on Wikipedia so, if something is incorrect, you can blame them. Other than that, enjoy this chapter – maybe you guys will begin to figure out what's going on…_

Disclaimer: _The movie characters highlighted in this awesome piece of work, unfortunately, do not belong to us. They are owned by Disney (© 1992-) and appear here because we made them. But we're not making any money off of them, so it's all good. The original characters included were donated generously because their creator's had no idea what they were in for._

--

_These Brutal Streets_

--

PART FIVE

--

Cecilia had not gotten that great of a reception when she stopped by the Newsboys Lodging House the day of Sarah Jacobs's death. After leaving her afternoon companion alone in the bar, she had hurried straight there only to find that the House was all but empty. Most of the boys were either out trying to earn whatever they could, or hawking the afternoon edition of the _World_, or attempting to convince Jack to crawl out of his bunk.

In fact, she only was able to tell two people about what she had overheard: Snipeshooter and Boots. Not two of the most trustworthy boys in the House but, Cecilia figured, it was better to get the news out. And if there was one thing she could trust those two to do, it was spread the word on this strange new gang.

Brushing her hands in a gesture of a job well done, Cecilia left the Lodging House behind her. She had no idea just how fast word would spread, nor did she care.

Almost immediately after Cecilia disappeared down Duane Street, a tall, thin boy wearing a bowler hat and glasses headed up to the Lodging House. Snipeshooter saw him first and gestured for him to come over to converse with the two younger boys.

"Hey, Specs," he said, greeting the confused newcomer, "You'll never believe what me and Boots just heard…"

--

That first day following the burial, the Jacobs family began the religious week-long period of mourning known as _shiva_. David was glad that the tradition dictated that none of the immediate family had to speak; he was unsure of what he would have said to his grief-stricken parents. As it was, just one glance at his mother, tears constantly trickling down her cheeks, was enough to make his stomach turn. And his father…

Mayer seemed to be beyond such outward displays of emotion. From the moment Sarah's lifeless body had been discovered at the foot of the stairs, Mayer had only cried but once and that was as he stood over her sprawled form. After that, he just closed up, saying nothing. Even Les was quiet, his eyes cast downward permanently, as if he had nothing to look forward to. Sarah's death had changed them all.

There were no close kin nearby for the Jacobs's but many of their neighbors felt the need to offer their condolences. Sarah had been a well-respected young woman, as well as a talented seamstress. They all agreed that her accidental death – none could believe that it was anything but an accident – was a tragedy.

Adele Hirsh, an elderly Jewish woman who lived on the floor below David's family, prepared a dish of eggs and lentils for them to eat. It was part of the ritual that the mourners sitting _shiva_ – the _avel_ – did not cook for themselves that first day. Esther was so appreciative of Mrs. Hirsh's gesture that she broke into a fresh wave of sobs. She was only comforted when the old woman sat with her in the kitchen, holding tightly to her hand as they recited a prayer for Sarah in Hebrew.

After Mrs. Hirsh finally left that night, David did not expect to see anyone else come and sit with the family during the mourning period. Yes, there were various callers who came to the front door but they left just as quickly; it was a heavy environment to subject oneself to, and David was not surprised that none of the neighbors chose to actually do more than apologize for his family's loss.

Perhaps that was why, on the second day of _shiva, _David was in awe to find Jack Kelly, clad in the same black clothes he had worn to Sarah's burial, standing at his front door. His look was almost sheepish when David answered the door. "Hey Dave," he said, nervously running his hands through his shaggy, greasy hair. "I'm here to… uh… pray with you guys, I guess."

If he hadn't been so numb at that moment – in his own way, David, too, was grieving for his sister – he might have thought it was somewhat amusing the way that Jack had stumbled over his words. It was strange to see the great strike leader falter, as if he had no idea to make his words sound important.

David couldn't figure out just how Jack knew to come to the apartment but he didn't waste time thinking about it. He just stepped aside and gestured for the other boy to come into the apartment. He led him into the kitchen where Mayer and Esther were once again sitting at the table in silence. They sat not on a pair of regular chairs but, rather, a set of stools; Les and David had been sitting on the floor beside the table.

Esther looked up as Jack followed her elder son into the small room. She appeared as if she had aged ten years since Sarah's funeral but there was no denying the slight, gracious smile that flittered across her exhausted face. "Thank you for respecting my daughter enough to come," she spoke, as her voice thickened with emotion. Mayer just jerked his head once, affirming his wife's sentiments.

Jack nodded. "I had to, Mrs. Jacobs. For Sarah," he replied gravely as he knelt down to sit beside Les. He patted the younger boy on the shoulder once before resting his backside against the floor. Jack looked entirely out of place but, taking his cue from the adults, he said nothing more after that.

_Well,_ David mused wryly as he resumed his place on the floor, beside Jack, _I wonder what that was all about. Maybe Jack liked Sarah more than I thought._

--

"Yeah, well I heard that the reason the Crimson Gang got Sarah was because they knew she was seeing Jack and they want to send a message," said the golden-toned girl with long black hair that was perched on the arm of a chair. She turned to look at the young man that was currently occupying the chair. "What did you think, Mush?"

Mush smiled as he glanced up at Pegasus before answering her question. "I heard that, too. Specs told Gip who told Hair who told Jake," he continued, ticking off all of the people in the chain of the rumor he had heard, "who told me that Sarah didn't fall down them stairs. She was pushed."

Kid Blink sat unmoving in the chair opposite of Mush. He nodded in agreement, holding the hand of the curly-haired girl that stood behind him. "Zippy told me something like that, too. Can you believe it? Sarah, murdered? It just don't sound right to me."

Zippy leaned forward and patted him comfortingly on his shoulder. "Where did this damn Gang come from anyway?"

"I don't know," Pegasus commented, shaking her head. "But I hope that they leave us the hell alone."

Jack came down the stairs, his hair plastered to the side of his face. Having been trying to, he found that with all of the noise coming from the lobby of the Lodging House it was damn near impossible. There were dark circles under his brown eyes, illustrating just how little sleep he had been getting since hearing of Sarah's death. He attempted to shoot a fierce glare at the group but the look was ruined when he yawned in the middle of it. "Hey, fellas? I'm trying to get some shut eye, here. Can you try to keep it down?"

They all seemed to notice Jack's appearance at the same time. The conversation abruptly stopped; Mush kicked Blink in the shin. "Has anyone told Jack yet?"

Before Blink could answer, Jack cut in, his eyes suddenly alert, "Tell me what?"

Pegasus tried to appear cheery, as if their topic of conversation was not as depressing as it was. "Well, Cowboy, someone found out just how your little girlfriend bit it."

He was still two steps away from reaching the floor of the lobby; when he heard Pegasus's response, he stumbled and actually ended up jumping down those steps. "What?" he cried, reaching for the railing to steady himself. "What does that mean?"

Blink glared over at Pegasus, who turned her head away; even with only one good eye, his glare was frightening. He sighed; this was not the way that he wanted to tell Jack – hence the reason why he had kept it from him since hearing the rumor from Skittery and Johnny.

At first he had thought it to be a simple tale, passed along due to the sensationalism of the news. But, when more and more of them began to believe in the arrival of this gang, Blink wondered if he should let the boy in on the gossip. He eventually decided not to. Jack was still too distraught to even speak of Sarah; to even suggest that her death was not an accident was not something he wanted to do.

"Jack," Kid Blink began, not entirely sure how he should approach the topic. "A bunch of kids around here have been talking lately about Sarah and the way she died." He removed his brown hat from his head and scratched his head. "There's some new gang floating around… the Crimson's. Some believe that they might have been behind her death." He jammed his hat back onto his head. "Jack, it's going around that this dumb ass gang pushed Sarah down those steps just to get at you."

"Me?" His voice sounded almost distant but, strangely, he was able to choke out a weak chuckle. "Why would they kill Sarah Jacobs to get me?"

"I don't know, Jack," Blink said, wishing like hell he had a cigarette. It did not go by unnoticed that, as soon as Blink glared at Pegasus to shut her up, none of the others in the room had spoken up. It seemed like he was the unofficially elected spokesperson for their quartet just then. "Something about getting this territory. I mean… I don't know."

Rubbing his eyes and shaking his head, Jack groaned. "And let me guess. No one's told Dave or his family about this, right?"

"No, Jack," Mush said innocently as he finally took the initiative to jump in and join the conversation. He had expected Jack to take the news much worse; he did not know how he would react if he found out that Pegasus died because of him. "Couldn't. We ain't seen Davey or Les since they buried their sister."

Jack waved his hand absently. "Yeah, I know. They got that sitting there, saying nothing, praying thing they got to do for a week. Dave hasn't left the house since then." He sighed, letting his hand fall to his side in an act of defeat. "I guess I gotta be the one to tell him. He needs to know it if Sarah's death wasn't as simple as we all thought."

--

Jack didn't come back to the Jacobs' apartment until the last day of _shiva_. He came to the apartment and was surprised that, when David opened the door, the other boy looked exactly the same as he had five days prior: same clothes, same vacant expression, everything the same.

David led Jack into the apartment again, right to the kitchen. The only differences this time were the refuse and half-eaten plates that littered the table, and the fact that Mr. and Mrs. Jacobs had swapped stools. Les, like before, was sitting on the floor. The older boys took their seats right beside him.

With something as important as what he had been told by the others weighing on his mind, Jack was not comfortable sitting with the Jacobs family – but he knew he could not wait another day to talk to his pal. He figured he would feel a lot better about the whole thing, not to mention less guilty, if David knew about the stories. David was a brain; he would tell Jack that it wasn't his fault, wouldn't he?

David could tell that something was wrong. As he stared straight ahead into the empty bedding area, he could feel the heat of Jack's gaze on his profile. In the silence of the apartment, he could hear the heel of Jack's shoe tapping against the floor.

He was just about to turn to Jack and ask him what was wrong when Jack cleared his throat and stood up. "Uh… Mr. Jacobs, Mrs. Jacobs? I hate to leave so soon but I have to go. I promised the Lodging House supervisor I'd help him out but… Dave? Do you mind walking me out?"

David's head jerked up at the mention of his name. Jack had spoken with that fake-polite voice he had that he used when addressing his parents. It was that voice that had helped to achieve Sarah's parents' trust when they first met him and he, obviously, thought it would work again – that they would agree to let David leave the apartment for just a quick moment.

When neither Esther nor Mayer responded to Jack's request, the boy reached down and wrapped his hand around David's arm. He pulled David to his feet quickly, ignoring his resistance.

As quickly as he could, Jack pushed David out of the front door. They headed straight down the building's steps, both trying their best to ignore that these were the steps that had caused Sarah's death. Jack halted them right outside the entrance of the apartment.

By the expression plastered across his face, Jack seemed relieved that they were no longer in the stuffy, eerily quiet apartment. He inhaled deeply before patting David on the shoulder. "It's good to see you, Dave. How have you been?"

"Fine. I'm fine, Jack," David offered back, a bit confused. "Now, is there a reason why you needed to interrupt my family and me to bring me down here?"

There was a hint of a smirk on Jack's handsome face. "I can't hide it from you, can I?" A great exhale followed the question, signaling that David need not respond. "I found something out yesterday, Davey. Mush and Blink? They told me about this new gang in town and they… a bunch of the others, really… think that this gang might have murdered Sarah…"

Jack's words ran through David's head, on repeat. _Sarah… murdered? _A bit more violently than he ever had before, David pushed at Jack's chest. He shook his head roughly. "You're crazy, Jack! Sarah wasn't murdered! It was an accident! Got that?" He was breathing heavily, his hands visibly trembling. But, when he spoke again, it was a bit calmer than before. "Just an accident – don't tell me that someone hurt my sister, Jack. It was an accident. No one murdered Sarah."

And, with that, David spun around and re-entered the apartment; he still had some grieving to do.

--

It felt good to be clean again. Because of tradition, Esther had firmly enforced the belief that the family did not bathe for the entire seven days that they grieved for Sarah. As soon as the sun had set that night, David had been the first to wash up. Despite doing nothing but sitting and, sometimes, playing host to the visitors that called on the family, David felt unreasonably dirty. By the third day, his skin had begun to crawl, and by the time he had been able to actually bathe again, he was desperate.

However, though the water had washed away his feeling of being extremely unclean, it did nothing to help with his continued numbness. His lips had not once strayed from their set expression, and his blue eyes were still wide and staring unblinking in open accusation. David was not sure when he would begin to feel normal again; he didn't know if he ever would.

Hoisting his pack of school books over his shoulder, David's emotionless mask cracked just a bit as he yawned. He did not bother covering his mouth with his hand for the yawn did not last. Nevertheless, it only served to remind him just how tired he was.

He shook his head once, trying to wake himself up. His mother had pressed for him to remain in the apartment – she was terrified that, if she took her eye off of either of her children, they would meet the same fate as Sarah – but he had declined her pleas. School, he had told her, was far too important to risk missing unnecessary hours.

Before Esther could try to convince him otherwise, Mayer had placed his hands over hers. Without a word, he told his wife to let their son go. And David, knowing he was only attending school again to avoid his parents and their palpable grief, simply picked up his books and left the apartment.

David continued on his walk to the schoolhouse, his fingers idly rubbing against the leather strap of his book carrier. His body was almost moving along on its own; his feet knew the steps to the brick building without his mind telling him which direction to take. In fact, he was so consumed with his thoughts and his preoccupation with staying awake, that he did not realize that he had made it to the building until he heard a sweet voice call out to him.

"Morning, David."

He glanced up. There, standing in front of the building, her hands crossed demurely in front of her as she held her own pack of books, was Amalia Palmer. David's heart began to beat a bit faster; he felt a warmth start stirring below. She really was beautiful.

"Good morning, Amalia," he replied, politely bowing his head in her direction as he walked over to her.

"I'm really glad to see that you're back at school. I missed you all last week," Amalia cooed, batting her eyelashes coyly at the boy. She took a tentative step closer to him, walking slowly so that skirt of her pale dress swished slightly. It was a sly attempt to show him a bit of her flesh, and, as a particular strong gust of wind chose to move past them both at that moment, it worked.

For the first time in more than a week, David actually smiled.


	6. Part Six

Note: _And, yes, there is another chapter. No, we did not forget you. It may seem like a shock but one of us (I'll let you guess which, heh) does have a very busy real life – and, sometimes, RL does get in the way of producing awesome fic. Anywho, here's the next bit. Enjoy it!_

Disclaimer: _The movie characters highlighted in this awesome piece of work, unfortunately, do not belong to us. They are owned by Disney (© 1992-) and appear here because we made them. But we're not making any money off of them, so it's all good. The original characters included were donated generously because their creator's had no idea what they were in for._

--

_These Brutal Streets_

--

PART SIX

--

Jack had been following a string of stories for nearly half a day. The stories bounced from one newsie to the next, leading him to various persons, and it made him sick. Feeling as though his stomach couldn't do any more somersaults, and his anger hitting an all time high, he had ended up in the shower. Arm bracing his body against the wall, hot water streamed down his back, and the heat of that water, he found, calmed his tense muscles.

Traces of the day swept through his mind, taking him through each conversation that had occurred. His mind opened up to what they each had said, relaxing and considering the discussions in their entireties.

Having had the intellect to approach those more in touch with reality, he had found himself drawn to Illusion and Dragon. They were both older, around the age of 18, and more levelheaded. Having felt the need not to become aggravated too early in the day, Jack knew he should begin questioning with this particular pair.

They lacked certain knowledge on the rumors though. When he had approached them, they were talking in low tones, their bodies turned towards each other in the lobby downstairs. Illusions' sharp blue eyes had turned up suddenly and her lips were not in the full line of a smile she usually held. Instead, they were serious and set. Her fair skin wrinkled as she frowned, the freckles that sprinkled her face becoming more apparent. That expression caused Dragon to pull his eyes away from her and his deep brown eyes were narrowed as his head turned.

Seeing Jack standing there with dark circles shadowing his eyes, Dragon's face lost the dark stare and his tan features turned up in empathy. "Jack…" he had spoken in a deep, low tone with such an underlying sorrow that Jack was forced to turn his eyes downward so as not to cry.

All in all, Jack had left the pair with nothing but another set of names: Gip and Hair.

Jack had been certain that he wouldn't find the two girls together. Gip was as dark and brooding as Hair was giggly and joking. But he found himself wrong.

They sat across from each other in the bunkroom, heads bowed close together and their words whispered. Both girls had dark, long hair, but their facial features differed drastically. Hair's skin was pale, her heritage showing its true German features down to the wide, blue eyes. Gip's features expressed her gypsy blood, all but her blue eyes – inherited from her father's Irish side.

Before that instant, Jack had never noticed how similar their features were. That wasn't important though, not when he had questions that needed answers. He coughed once, two pairs of blue eyes turning to blink at him. Body leaning against the doorframe, he had crossed his arms over his chest, appearing more weary and tired by the second.

They stood quickly, almost colliding. If Jack had been in a less solemn mood, he would have laughed heartily at them. After talking with them, their hands wringing together and their eyes shifting to anywhere except his face, he found himself giving up. He'd be better off talking to Hair's dearest Jake and Gip's Specs.

His morning ended with the two boys, found separately and interrogated without violence. He had, in turn, searched for Gimmick and Trouble, only to find them missing.

Jack put the thought of his head as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Turning the shower off, he sighed. People disappeared all the time. The two had only been there for a few weeks and may have already moved on. It was a dead end to search them out again when they hadn't been seen for a good forty-eight hours.

He had others to question, and he would find out more information somehow, even if it took him weeks to do so. There was one thing you could say about Jack Kelly – it was that he was damn stubborn.

--

Stress felt tired. That was an easy assumption to make with the way her feet dragged all the way up the stairs. Every day seemed longer without the amusement of her friend Bittah. It had been weeks since she had last seen her – bruised up at that bar.

Stress let out a long sigh as she managed up the stairs, pausing. A noise made her forget her earlier thoughts, and her ears perked up as she heard a fierce tone and a slight whimpering coming from the bunkroom she was headed towards. Her hurried footsteps echoed down the hall and she skidded to a halt just outside the door.

Jack's tall frame leaned over an average sized girl with long brown hair. The girl's eyes were turned down, a wince illuminating her features. Stress called his name out, without thought.

He turned, his snarl turning into a thin line of quivering lips. His body straightened and Styx – the girl – slid quietly past him. Styx's body whipped past Stress, forcing her to flatten against the doorway, her eyes transfixed on Jack's.

"Jack," she had repeated his name in a concerned tone. She moved out of the doorway and stepped towards him, her eyes wide and questioning. "What are you doing in here?" she inquired in a small voice.

His gaze was frightening: a mixture of confusion, anger and gravity. Albeit surprised, Stress continued her steps forward with an arm outstretched in comfort, meaning to touch his shoulder in a way to express her empathy to him. His stare fell from her and she found her legs unable to move her body closer to his, her arm falling to her side.

"Is everything okay, Jack?" her voice was soft and soothing, her eyes wrinkling at the edges as her worry for him escalated.

His eyes briefly met hers, trying to collect himself as his head shook slowly from side to side. Stress moved forward, her body suddenly in front of his and her hands reached up, gently grasping his shoulders. Her eyes were desperate for answers as he continued to avoid locking eyes with her.

"It'll be okay Jack," she spoke again, just as soothing as before. Her eyes were searching, capturing his after a few moments of harsh silence. A sigh escaped his lips and his vivid, emotion-filled eyes finally met hers, but only for a second.

Pulling away, he let out another breath. "No. It's not going to be okay Stress…" Gruffly, he stepped past her.

"Jack, they're just rumors…"

Jack cut her off with a sharp glare as he turned just a few feet from her. Her hands were stretched out towards him, her arms extended from her body with a pleading expression written across her face. His fierce look softened, his lips opening as if to apologize and then shut once again in a painfully tight line.

She took this as a sign that he would hear her out, and a startling amount of words tumbled from her lips. "They're just silly rumors Jack, nothing more than that. No one would intentionally want to hurt Sarah, especially not a gang. I mean even Bittah has seen these guys and she thinks…"

"Bittah…" the word was a low growl and Jack's face contorted fiercely with anger. "What would that bitch know, Stress, huh? Just rumors…" he scoffed, waving his hand, brushing off what she had said. "You don't know anything, Stress, anything!"

He had been practically shouting at her with those last words and as he turned, exiting the bunkroom at a furious pace, she found that her body was shaking, her lips quivering. Her knees hit the ground and she buried her face in her hands. A wail of sobs echoed through the room, yet no one came running to see if she was okay.

--

Bittah had no idea how it had come down to this, lying calmly in the arms of none other than Spot Conlon. The sun had set just hours before and she reluctantly pulled her body to the edge of the bed, forcing herself to leave the warmth of the boy's half-nude body.

Gently, she removed his arm from around her waist, placing it beside him as her feet slipped carefully onto the cool wooden floor. She stood as she buttoned her shirt with tired fingers and dragged her trousers on. So quietly did she dress that Spot had not once stirred. Fully dressed now, she turned to take one last glance at his sprawled, sleeping form. She loved how he lay with his brown locks in a mess and his face peaceful.

Turning, she trained her eyes on the door, trailing quietly to it. Bittah drew it openly slowly, only enough that she could slip through it. This was the third night she had spent with him, leaving him once he fell asleep to sneak back into her bunk. She had a reputation to keep up after all.

As she settled into her bunk, her thoughts turned back to the past two weeks: how things had gone from harsh exchanges of words to loud, brash arguments, and then to violent physical fights with the stubborn Brooklyn leader. Then, suddenly everything had changed, turning into a passion that Bittah could barely handle, nonetheless completely understand. Not that she was about to halt it just for the sake of her confusion.

She fell asleep, feeling unnerved and confused for the first time in years. Maybe it was time to take a trip back to Manhattan, to breathe and clear her head. _Definitely_, she thought as she nestled into a deep slumber.

--

Jack pushed back the lingering feeling of guilt for the third time that afternoon. The guilt, at least, forced him to forget about his deceased girlfriend for minutes at a time. He turned, his body now facing the direction of the lodging house. Staring blankly for a moment, his mind shifted over the countless tidbits of information that he had gathered.

This didn't help his situation. He was now torn between grief and guilt and he chose the lighter of the two, forcing his legs to move. Jack tried not to think about it, the fact that he was about to apologize. Not being known for his apologetic ways, he knew this would prove to be quite a feat for himself.

At least it was a girl he was apologizing to; the thought soothed him into walking further. Only when his hand held the doorknob to the front door did he pause, shaking his head a little as he pushed it open.

He gazed around, weary of where Stress could be and hoping she would make this easy for him. Knowing of her sweet nature, he prayed that she'd forgive him and he could be on his way quickly.

Jack had never been known for his emotional side, always the serious or joking guy in a group, never anything more or in between. So when he found her, still on her knees in the bunkroom, her hands covering her eyes, he knew not what to do. Had she been there all morning?

There was a lump in Jack's throat and his mind screamed at him, abusing himself for treating her so harshly. "Stress…" the noise that came from his throat was quiet and pained, but it caught her attention rather suddenly.

Her green eyes stared at him, glossed over with a set of fresh tears and her cheeks stained red from wiping them away. The redness of her bottom lip quivered and she pushed herself unsteadily to her feet.

_Had she really been there all afternoon?_ The thought seared through Jack's heart and he forced his eyes to the ground for a few seconds.

When he looked back up, she was wobbling on her feet and only a few steps closer. She stared at him with wide eyes, her hands trembling as they sat entwined together in front of her.

"I'm sorry…" his voice was still choked with an emotion he could not be sure of. Was it still guilt? Or maybe despair?

He didn't discover the answer until he was right in front of her, tipping her chin up with his broad hands. His lips, chapped and tasting of cigarettes, captured her own sweet and smooth ones in a tender, unexpected kiss.

--

It was more unexpected to the pair that had made their way up the stairway around that exact moment. David was holding Amalia's hand tightly, his lips pursed and his eyes glinting with anger.

Amalia, the ever gentle and sweet girl, tugged his hand gently. She flashed him a small, apologetic smile and pulled him away from the scene. Amalia knew that boy, Jack, was the one who had dated David's sister, Sarah – the dead girl. It did not hurt her in the least, but she could see David was fuming with an anger that was easily justified.

David did not speak until they were near her house, his hand gripping hers with an intensity that equaled the expression on his face. "That bastard…" he managed a growl under his breath and halted their leisurely walk to cover his eyes as if it hurt to think about. He started to babble angrily, ranting about Jack and how horrendous a person he was deep down and how he, David, had always known it.

Amalia had that same, stupid smile on her face, which only made David scowl more. Although he ran out of words to say after a few minutes and managed to keep gripping her hand in that intense fashion. As he drew in a deep breath, she tugged him towards her house. "David… let me make you some tea, help you calm down…" she said sweetly.

He felt like slapping her at that moment, but suddenly caught sight of a difference in her smile, something less annoying and strangely seductive about the way she was looking at him. So stunned was he by it, that she managed to lead him through the back entrance to her house.

They were in a spacious kitchen, neat and tidy, the countertops clean and everything put away neatly. She sat him down on a seat, ignoring his incessant murmuring words of hatred towards Jack. Then, she set to making a pot of tea. Her skirts swirled around her ankles and she made a show of bending over and reaching up for various things around the kitchen.

Amalia's face had suddenly heated to a sweet shade of pink as she caught him staring unabashedly at her body. She nearly dropped the teapot in her hand, but managed to whisk the cups and teapot to the table and fixed his tea to his liking.

David couldn't help but stare, the curve of her breast drawing his attention as she bent slightly to pour the hot tea into his cup. Growing more embarrassed, Amalia nearly burnt David as the spout of the teapot wavered and water dripped from it closer to the edge of the table. David sprung to his feet in reaction.

"I'm sorry I'm sorry!" Amalia said, reaching for a towel. "Did I get you anywhere?"

She examined him as he calmed himself and David stepped forward, as if to take the cloth from her hand. Instead, he grasped her wrist gently and brought his other hand up, gently pressing it against her warm, silken cheek. Her pale face grew redder in color and it was she who pushed herself up on her tiptoes and kissed him in the most passionate way she could muster.

David's hand pressed now to her side, holding her against him, and kissed her fiercely in return. He walked them backwards to the counter, leaning against it as he dared not to break the kiss, reveling in the feel of her warm, curvaceous body against his own. She ignited in him a lust that begged to be released.

Of course, she pulled away minutes later, just as he was about to further their kiss to the next level. "My parents…" she whispered in his ear, nipping at it and looking almost kitten-like in her smile that shone to her teeth.

Reluctantly, he released her from his hold, straightening himself and managing through a quick cup of tea. Listlessly, she watched him, letting him gaze at her openly with only a slight hint of a blush.

David did not stay until her parents were to arrive home. He left with a brief kiss and a hope that she would one day give him what he had desired of her in the moment of their kiss. _One thing was for sure_; he said to himself as he headed back home, _school was going to be much more interesting from now on_.


End file.
